


Lovers' Eyes

by wintercearig



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eye Sex, For Science!, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pre-Slash, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, subliminal feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercearig/pseuds/wintercearig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock does not only see John, he <i>observes</i>. Just for science's sake, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers' Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Lovers' Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167552) by [leeloque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeloque/pseuds/leeloque)



> This story was written as a gift for hungry-potter-locked-in-tardis in the Sherlock Secret Santa on tumblr.
> 
> Glory and eternal gratefulness to the wonderful [GravityCanFly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityCanFly/pseuds/GravityCanFly) who did a brilliant job as my beta. 
> 
>  
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone!
> 
> ***UPDATE***  
> Translation into Russian now available, read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1167552>)!

There is this phrase “if looks could kill” that is used by people in certain situations. Sherlock Holmes knows about this, but he has always wondered why anyone would like to kill other people just by looking at them when there are a gazillion other interesting methods that involve intelligent planning. Although he has to acknowledge that murder by eye-contact might be hard to trace back to a specific suspect and thus should be kept in mind as quite an effective approach. At the same time it's oh-so very boring.

Regardless, on the assumption that human eyes could possess a superpower, he would rather like his looks to undress John. His flatmate in his dressed state had become inconvenient over the last few weeks. Very distracting indeed.

At first Sherlock had been content with simply looking at John, deducing everything there was to know about him and incidentally exploring his daily habits and moods. But now that Sherlock knows every observable spot of John's body by heart, every single wrinkle, every birthmark, every abnormality in his skin structure – it's simply _not enough anymore_.

He knows the alternating colour of John's eyes, which go from the standard blue with a ring of bronze around the iris into shades that even Sherlock finds hard to describe ( _as if the ocean kissed a meadow_ ), depending on the particular light. He watched the way John's hair looks under different conditions ( _dry, wet, shampooed, greasy, recently cut, outgrown, stubborn, smooth_ ). He categorised John's smiles and also picked his favourite ones (definitely the one which says _Sherlock-you've been-an-insufferable-git-again-and-sometimes-I-don't-know-why-I-keep-up-with-you-but-then-you-do-something-brilliant-and-I-just-can't-help-myself-but-praise-you-anyway_ ). He admired John's hands extensively and tried to imagine every single stroke they ever performed; he wondered how many men were saved by these rather small and plain hands (and almost more interesting - how many have died because of them?).

So whenever he feels unwatched he allows himself to view, to stare, to goggle. He lets his eyes wander over the body of his army doctor, from top to bottom and vice versa. He knows that John finds this behaviour thoroughly creepy (especially the smirks which could quite rightly be classified as _filfthy_ ); nevertheless he enjoys Sherlock's unshared attention. Sherlock Holmes is a very observant man and his eagle eyes rarely miss out on anything. He does not only study and collect data, but also enjoys the aesthetic experience, as if John was his own personal work of art. The sleuth finds concepts and ideas of beauty rather irrational and redundant, but this does not mean he is incapable of such sentiments. In this respect one could note that Sherlock is on the same page as the classics and their triangle of ideals - even if he'd never admit it, in his own special (and negotiating) way he admires truth, beauty and goodness.  
Could anyone imagine a man more veritable or better than John Watson? Who could withdraw oneself from his utilitarian handsomeness?  
Either way Sherlock clearly cannot.

Due to the current situation of John's body being properly covered with another hideous jumper and mundane jeans, Sherlock feels like he will jump out of his skin very soon if he does not get to see some more of him in the near future. Of course he could conjecture the parts of John's body which are usually not visible to him, based on his height, weight and general constitution – but then Sherlock has never been the type for speculations. How is Sherlock supposed to guess if he has any chest hair? Which colour and complexion does it have? Did he have an umbilical hernia? What do his nipples look like? Sherlock does not only want objective data, he needs it. Of course his motivation has purely scientific reasons, nothing else.

Right now his partner in crime is sitting in his armchair and acting the innocent. John seems to be buried in his book, though Sherlock can hardly imagine that crappy pulp fiction can be that absorbing at all. The consulting detective lies with his limbs spread all over the couch and tries to think. As there is no case at the moment, his first priority is to contruct a plan on _how-to-get-my-flatmate-in-an-as-naked-as-possible-state_. And naturally this has to be done in the "normal" obsessive Sherlockian way. He could burn or hide John's clothes the next time his flatmate is out or in the shower. He could pretend to go on a case in a nudist camp and talk John into doing some "undercover work". He could –

“JOHN.”

“What is it?”

“Stop it.”

Questioning look.

“I didn't do anything? Just sitting here.”

“Just shut it then! Stop being so... irrestis- irritating. I have to think.”

Irritation. Slight hints of annoyance. Interesting.

“Sherlock, this flat happens to be mine as well, so I have every bloody right to sit in my chair in our living room and enjoy a quiet night in.”

“Don't you have anything else to do? Are there no rules on what "normal people" do on a Saturday evening? Drinking, dating or any other pathetic way of “socialising”?”

Now John looks hurt. John looking hurt was in any case _a bit not good_.

“Thanks for reminding me of how I don't have something like a normal social life besides hanging around with the madman I have the dubious pleasure to call my best friend. And if you don't want me to be here, I might as well go to bed now.”

Without another word he grabs his book and leaves. Sherlock can hear his footsteps on the stairs.  
Well, that obviously went wrong.

Sherlock sighs and rises from the sofa. He ties his gown and goes into the kitchen to make tea. This is the first point on his crisis management agenda: no matter what has happened, tea always manages to cheer John up. He knocks on John's bedroom door.

“John?”

Silence. He is pretty sure that his friend isn't already asleep; John always needs his time to drop off, especially when he's upset. Sherlock hears the bed squeaking as John moves and turns around.

“John, I've made you tea.”

“Are you trying to drug me again?”

This answer makes him grin. If John is joking again, it's probably safe to go in. So he reaches for the doorknob and opens the door.

The view catches him completely off guard. For a few seconds Sherlock is stunned. Then his mind begins to work and tries to collect as much information as possible, as long as the opportunity is offered. John is sitting on his bed. Topless. And apparently not even self-conscious about it.

He can't help himself, he has to keep his eyes fixed on John and drinks in the heavenly sight. He senses the wonderful rush of his brain working and feels like he is about to fall into euphoria every moment. Right now he can't even properly describe what he sees, because he's overwhelmed by his perceptions. Sherlock can only hope that the words, his instruments of analysis, will come back to him later. Temporary deduction: Dr. John H. Watson is the nicest thing he has ever seen.

“Sherlock, why are you staring at me like that?”

“Research.”

One could think that Sherlock must be very satisfied, now that he is able to extend his knowledge on this particular topic. But the reverse is true. John is like a drug, and since he has tasted it, the needs and nature of the addict gained the upper hand. Sherlock is totally lost to the world, irreversibly addicted. Without a refractory period his body longs for another stimulus. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel what John is like.

“What is wrong with you? Look, I know that there‘s been no case for more than four days, but this is - even for your standards - quite strange. Is this just the normal special snowflake behaviour or has anything happened?”

Such a question would normally cause a moderate sulking episode on Sherlock‘s part, but this is John and he's looking concerned and a bit amused at the same time ( _what is it with his face? how is he able to do that? ever so expressive_ ) and he's not wearing anything except his pyjama bottoms ( _no evidence of underwear_ ).

“You're distracting.”

“Well, I know, but I can hardly stop those stupid thoughts from coming into my brain. Sorry for being such a boring normal person.”

“That‘s not what I was talking about, John. Please try to keep up.”

And with this words he turns on his heels and leaves the room. He needs silence and privacy to evaluate all this glorious data. Left is a very confused John, who files this evening under “another weird interlude with Sherlock” and goes to sleep, this time for real.

Poor Sherlock. Maybe in a few weeks time he will realise the true origin of his interest (and that it is anything but “purely scientific”). Maybe he will have the guts to go and tell John and to face his reaction. Maybe his attraction and feelings will be reciprocated. They would kiss and fuck and keep Mrs Hudson up with all that noise and chase criminals and drink tea and have Chinese take-away and all in all continue with their mad lives and on the outside nothing would have changed that much.  
But maybe this won’t happen, because by then a consulting criminal could have decided to burn the heart out of Sherlock instead and everything may turn out different than anyone ever expected.


End file.
